Pulling on his best casual not-trying-too-hard shirt – the purple and blue plaid one – Dean stands in front of the full length mirror that hangs on the back of the closet door. He flattens his hair down until it’s neat, then decides to run his fingers through it to spike it up. There’s a few days stubble on his jaw, but he he’s not sure if he really has time to shave. This is kind of short notice.

Pacing out of the bedroom to grab a duffel in the utility closet by the front door of their small apartment, the old wood floors creak under foot. Back and forth between the bedroom and front door, Dean gets his duffel ready with a spare change of clothes and some supplies, then forgets his phone in the bedroom, then goes to put his shoes on without having gotten socks.

“Babe, you have everything. And if you don’t, it’s fine. The pacing is distracting.”

Cassie isn’t even looking up from the thick book she’s buried in, toes tucked under her where she sits on the couch reading.